Fight Like A Girl
by ChibiSerenity
Summary: Lady Delia of Eldorne sits in her prison cell, contemplating where she went wrong, and brooding over her motivations and her hatred for Alanna of Trebond. Is it possible that the legendary Lioness and the traitorous Delia are more alike than different?
1. Captive

"And God help you if you are a phoenix, And you dare to rise out of the ash. A thousand eyes smolder with jealousy, When you are just flying past" -Alanna Davis, 32 Flavors  
  
"The Lady Delia, formerly of Eldorne, the last living ringleader of the rebellion against his Majesty King Jonathan III, no doubt merits the sentence of death for her treasonous actions. His Majesty is, however, merciful, and has suggested that she be given the sentence of life imprisonment instead of death. The court has decided to heed His Majesty's request, and the Lady Delia, formerly of Eldorne, is now charged with life imprisonment. No doubt you wish to thank His Majesty for his merciful intervention on your behalf."  
The magistrate turned to me as he spoke those last words, and I glared at my feet. One of the guards behind me pushed me forward towards the throne where 'King' Jonathan sat. I would not yield to this, the final insult. I would not bow down and thank this man for his .mercy. The word made me want to spit. "No doubt you wish to thank His Majesty for his merciful intervention on your behalf," repeated to magistrate. "I will not." I said. My voice was quiet, yet I knew by the whispers around me that my words had been repeated even to those in the back of the courtroom, spilling outside to the mob waiting there. I smiled to myself. They would surely kill me now. But no, at a word from that boy - I refused to think of him as king - the guards grabbed my arms and began dragging me away. I found my feet, and walked with a dignified gait out the door. I would not allow people to see me being dragged out like a common thief.  
The last words I heard from that hateful room were those of Jonathan, almost remorseful, saying "Alanna was right about you from the beginning."  
The anger boiled up in me, and I thought for a moment it was too strong, too much for my body to contain. I thought it would burst out of me, but it did not. I maintained my rigidly dignified march towards my cell. And it was all of it, every humiliating moment, because of that woman.  
Others would insist that she was not the only player in my downfall, but I know better. If it weren't for her, Jonathan would NEVER have gotten the Dominion Jewel - if it were not for her, Roger could have killed him when he was a boy. But no, that girl had to be constantly meddling, constantly reaching for things that were out of her reach, yet somehow constantly reaching them. I know that everything was that unnatural woman's fault, and nothing would ever convince me otherwise. And oh, she was unnatural. What woman would masquerade herself for years as a boy? What woman would ever suffer through the pains and hardships of knighthood? What woman would fight?  
I would. I had, but with the subtle arts assigned to my sex. I had not usurped the brutish arts of physical combat, but nevertheless I had not been successful and she had. Revulsion surged deep within me. It tasted like bile. "Your chambers, lady."  
The guard's words were dripping with sarcasm as he thrust me into the cell. I tripped, stumbled forward, and fell into an undignified pile in the middle of the small room. The guard laughed gruffly, said something that sounded like 'they should have killed you, traitor', and slammed the door behind him.  
I wish they had killed me. Then at least I would not have had to suffer through the endless days and nights that would make up the rest of my life in this prison cell. The words struck me as funny, and I began to laugh. I had not laughed in what felt like months, and even now it seemed hollow and without humor, tearing from my throat painfully, until I realized that I was not laughing, but weeping. My whole life I had been in a prison cell, so why did having the prison cell be literal instead of figurative change things? My whole life I had been fighting a losing battle, and this was the end result.  
Was it all my own fault then? For fighting? Did it have nothing to do with that woman - Alanna? The unfairness of it all smothered me, and I felt like a little girl again. Why was it that Alanna could fight against conformity and ended that fight the King's Champion, while I had fought against that same conformity, and ended my struggle in a prison cell? And why was it when I was little that I had never been allowed to run outside, or play with the boys?  
Once more I was a little girl, stamping my foot in anger and outrage.  
  
"I wanna go play with Rekkan and the others! It's not fair, how come THEY get to play war outside, and I have to stay in here?"  
"Delia, Delia, don't be foolish. You're a girl. Girls don't fight and play war." My mother had insisted. "But I want to!"  
My mother had sighed, shaking her head. "I don't understand you, Delia. You are a pretty girl, so why on Earth would you want to go outside and spoil your looks playing in the sun? Not only is it unseemly for you to be playing with the boys, but what if there was some accident and you got hurt? You could never keep up with them, and they might hurt you without meaning to. What if you scarred your face, or broke your nose? Why, all hope for a good marriage would be lost!" "I don't WANNA get married! I wanna play war and fight with the Rekkan!" "Delia, what is wrong with you? Every girl wants to get married." "I want to fight!" I had insisted, glaring up at my mother. "Girls don't fight!" "But I WA-" "Debrah!" my mother shrieked, "She makes my head ache! Take her away!"  
I had been whisked away to my room, out of my mother's sight. Debrah, my nursemaid, had scolded me for troubling my mother, and forced me into the sort of gown that pretty little girls should wear. I hated it. I looked out the window, and wanted to escape. I wanted to run and play and.fly. I had almost forgotten about that, about my childhood dream that I would sprout wings and fly away. It was rather silly now that I think about it, but it was very real back then. I would stand in front of open windows, or on the top of the walls, and lean out as far as I would dare. I would feel the wind whipping my hair into my face, and when I closed my eyes I would pretend that I was alone. I would pretend that my mother and Debrah wouldn't come to take me away and lock me in my room to sew, that I could really fly away and be free from it all, in control of my own destiny. It was all so simple then, so pure. Things had changed, of course. I never realized my dream of flying, or even of 'playing with the boys'. At twelve or so my mother had packed me off to the Mithran cloisters where I would be taught to be a lady by professionals. I had resisted, but unlike Jon's precious Alanna, I had no convenient twin brother, and was packed away. It was my first major last battle, a bitter milestone. Was that where it had gone wrong? It was there that I had met David, and it was there that I met Cybil. It was there that I learned the value of fighting, not with sword or club, but with whispers and smiles. No matter what cruel retribution my struggle has earned me, I cannot regret my lessons of friendship from David, nor my lessons of cruelty and triumph from Cybil. 


	2. Power within Powerlesness

AN: Thank you to Dragon Defender and Eva Maddison for reviewing the first chapter, I really appreciate it (  
  
I had been sent to the cloisters against my will, and when I got there, I sulked. I wouldn't even touch my food, and I began to waste away. My once vibrant face became pale, and my slim body became frail and weak. David said that when he first saw me I looked like the most utterly defeated person he had ever met. He was right. When I had been sent off, when I said good-bye to Rekkan and the boys, I realized that there was no way I could win. I would never fly, I would never fight with them, I would never have the power to control my future. I was a girl, so I should just surrender and cut the futile fight that was my life short. I could never win, so why try?  
  
That was my mind set when I sat there one day at breakfast, surrounded by chattering and lively girls, yet all alone. That was when David, who was studying to be a sorcerer, had approached me. Well, actually he had thrown food at me. Some horribly goopy stuff, I can't remember what exactly. The memory now makes me laugh. He said that he'd done it to see if I would react. He had been wondering if I was dead, catatonic or just a zombi. Well, he had expected me to jump up and scream like any of the girls around me would have under similar circumstances. Of course I didn't. As I said before, I was too far gone in my moping, and so I just sat there as this goopy stuff ran down my face. The girls around me collectively gasped, and stared at me. I blinked, but I didn't move. I just let it be there, let some of it fall off my face and into my food, let the more watery bits of it run into my hair. Well, when I didn't react, David was astonished. He said the sight of me made him feel extremely guilty, and he slowly crept up and apologized, offering me a handkerchief. My eyes glanced down at him, but I didn't move. He didn't know what to do. He asked me if I was okay, and I didn't answer. He turned to one of the girls beside me and asked if I was mute, to which she replied with a scornful shake of the head.  
  
"Listen, I said I'm sorry, all right?" he pleaded.  
  
I still didn't respond, but he offered me the handkerchief again. In the face of my continuing silence he begged, "Come on, if you don't take it, I'll get into trouble. You don't want that! Come on, please?"  
  
He gave me this sort of puppy dog look, and it was very similar to the one I would give Debrah when I wanted something that she had forbidden me. I stared at him a moment, a feeling of familiarity coming over me, and then I reached out my hand and took the handkerchief. He grinned as I wiped my face off, pointing out where I'd missed a spot. From that moment onward, it seemed that I'd made some sort of unwitting pledge of friendship with him, because he followed me around from that day onward. He even braved the shocked stares of the other girls and sat next to me at mealtimes. The priestesses who taught us did not approve of this at all, and even went so far as to make a public announcement that 'undue fraternization between the genders was highly improper and would not be allowed'. David had merely smirked at this.  
  
One day David found me sitting in an empty room, leaning listlessly against the wall. My eyes were half closed, and I was engulfed in my usual melancholy.  
  
"Delia, what's wrong?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing," I replied in my usual, vague way. Most times this would send intrusive inquisitors packing, but David wouldn't have any of it. He sat down next to me and demanded to know what was bothering me all the time, and refused to move until he got a satisfactory answer. I'm afraid I got a bit angry with him. I was unused to someone being so persistence in wanting to know what bothered me.  
  
"Just go away, David. You're being rude and nosy. It's none of your business," I snapped, turning my face to the wall.  
  
"I know it's not my business, not really, but.Delia, I want to help you! Can't you see that? You constantly look sad and defeated and depressed, even when I'm doing my best to cheer you up! I can tell you a joke that sets all the rest of the room into fits of laughter, but you just sit there with this glazed over look in your eyes. Now I want to know what you're thinking of when you do that! I know it's none of my business, and I know I have no right to ask you, but I'm doing it anyway. I care about you and want to help you, so just deal with it and let me!"  
  
I looked at him, completely incredulous.  
  
"You want to know what I'm thinking when I look so sad," I said softly.  
  
"Yes," answered David, adding "Please," as an afterthought.  
  
I looked out the window, wondering whether or not I should trust him. I was such a little girl, and I was always so alone.I didn't really want to be alone. I never have.  
  
"I'm wishing my life could have turned out differently. I'm wishing that I could have found some way to change things."  
  
"Change things how?" David prompted.  
  
"It's not fair, you know. It's not fair that I only have one option - all I can do is be pushed into this life of a court lady. My only possible future is to do my best to find a husband and live out my life a slave to him and whatever children I might have. I hate it! I hate being so.so powerless, so helpless! I hate it!"  
  
My emotions got the better of me. They tore through me, poured out of me in the form of sobs and weeping. I shook with the power of it all, and as I did so I felt ashamed. I was weeping in front of David, showing myself to be even more powerless, even more weak, than I had already proclaimed myself to be. I was helpless before the force of my emotions, just like everyone always said women were.  
  
Then David put his hand on my shoulder, patting it awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he said gravely. "It's not fair. It's not right in the slightest bit. I had no idea you hated the idea of being a lady so much. I should have guessed - I mean, I'd never want to become one."  
  
"Of course not. You don't have to. You're going to be a great mage, you're going to control the very elements of the earth! You'll never be helpless before anything."  
  
"You don't know that. I could fail. And mages.I don't think they really control the elements as much as the elements control them. I've been told a million stories about how mages who thought they could control their magic completely met gruesome ends. So, I think that mages sort of have to be helpless, but not in the usual way. I don't know how to say it. It's like, they know that they're not in control of the powers they wield, and that the powers themselves are greater than the mage who wields them, and they accept this, but that doesn't mean they stop trying to use the power. They submit to the greater power of the elements and magics, and use the slivers of power allowed to them. They derive power from accepting their helplessness, and end up doing amazing things. It's not the same as you. You're seeing that you're in a position where you can't have complete control, you can't fight against people who are more powerful than you are, and you're accepting it, but then.you're giving up. You want complete power, or you'll waste away. You're not giving yourself any room to maneuver, not using what slivers of power you can get. If you glean for little pieces of power, then you'll be like the great mages - powerless, but really powerful. I'm not making much sense, I know. Just.you're stuck in a bad situation. I don't blame you for being sulky. But, you don't want to be powerless, do you?"  
  
"No, of course not!"  
  
"So make me a promise. Promise me you'll.work within your bounds. You'll do what you can to be comfortable, to be as powerful as you can be within your confines. I know I'm not explaining it well, but do you understand what I mean? You don't have to be utterly powerless. No one can make you completely powerless. Only you can do that, or let them do that to you. Don't let them. Don't give up, just fight as best you can for power here, in this situation. Then you won't be so sad, I don't think."  
  
I was silent for a long while after that.  
  
"Delia?" asked David tentatively.  
  
"How can I possibly have anything that even resembles power in my position?" I asked him.  
  
"Well, um.remember that day I threw food at you in the dining hall?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, I'll tell you right now, when you sitting there all noble-like, with the food just sort of.dripping off.you sure had me scared. I guess you had power over me, then, didn't you? I mean, you didn't act the way I had expected you to. I would have given anything just then for you to forgive me, to accept my apology, anything. If you had just screamed and cried and thrown things, well, then I would have found it very funny, and I would have had all the power in the situation. But by acting the way you did, you had power, right? So, maybe girls can't get power the conventional way, by fighting with swords and stuff. Maybe the thing to do for you to get power is to fight in your own way, to fight like a girl."  
  
"Then in order fight like a girl, I have to be still when I get food thrown at me?"  
  
"No.not necessarily. You know, I'm not sure. I don't know what gives girls power. But we'll figure it out. And then you'll never be powerless again, right?"  
  
I looked at him for a second, half-smiling. "You know," I said, "You're really very smart for your age."  
  
"Thank you," he said, and that half-smile turned into a full-blown grin, and he was happy again, and so, remarkably, was I. I should have known that it was false happiness, but we are all ignorant as children. It is our right. 


	3. A Face Can Launch A Thousand Ships

Fight Like a Girl  
  
Chapter 3 - A Face Can Launch A Thousand Ships  
  
"And God help you if you are a phoenix,  
  
And you dare to rise out of the ash.  
  
A thousand eyes smolder with jealousy,  
  
When you are just flying past"  
  
-Alanna Davis, 32 Flavors  
  
AN: I know that they probably didn't have The Iliad in Alanna's world, but please just humor me. It's either this or make up a whole imaginary epic with basically the same message in it, and that would be such a long tangent I figure it would detract from the main story more than the anachronism (well, not quite anachronism, but you know what I mean, the inauthenticity) of sticking in The Iliad would. Besides, I'm just plain lazy :P Also, thanks again to Eva Maddison and 'Me' (well, not really me, that's how they signed.right) for reviewing. I always appreciate it.  
  
Those days in the convent with David were the best in my life, I think. Together we observed the way the women and girls of the convent interacted, and what traits gave a woman power. I flirted briefly with the idea of becoming one of those priestesses who carry axes and patrol the Goddess's grounds watching for trespassers, but I decided against it. I had no love of physical combat in and of itself; all I wanted was power, and those priestesses had no power at all outside of the holy grounds.  
  
I had discovered that, among the older girls especially, there existed an hierarchy of power. Some girls would absolutely grovel before others. These other girls had trains of people following them around, doing things for them.power. David and I set about trying to discover what gave them this power. Perhaps it was how they acted. Some were kind, but the most powerful were sniping things, constantly going behind the backs of people they claimed to be friends with, cutting down other girls.you no doubt are familiar with the sort of things they'd do. Yet, horrible though they were, they had power. No one told them what to do. And so I made up my mind to enter the arena. But not yet. I needed an opening. At the time I was completely isolated from the other girls because of my close connection with David. The others thought me strange and tomboyish, although my antics at playing war had not been revived. What's more, I knew that once I entered the world of the girl's hierarchy, I would have to give up my friendship with David, and I did not want to do that. So I decided to wait till he had left for the City of the Gods to make my move, and to use my remaining time with him to enjoy his company and research how to make my debut a success.  
  
Then David found the book. It was an old book, buried under dusty scrolls in one of the priestess's studies. David had been in there attempting to hide a mouse in the priestess's desk drawer (he was an incurable troublemaker), when he knocked over a scroll. He picked it up and examined it, hoping it would contain some old, powerful spell that would enable him to turn rocks to gold or people to frogs. When he heard footsteps approaching, he shoved it into the pocked I had sewn for him on the inside of his jacket, and ducked out the window he had come in.  
  
Later that day we had looked at the thick scroll together. It was the beginning of a poem, a story, called The Iliad, by a man named Homer. It was exciting, about a man named Paris, and a golden apple, feuding goddesses, an epic war.thrilling. David and I enjoyed it immensely. The reason the story is pertinent now is Helen. She was a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman in the world. This man Paris was offered beauty, wisdom, and power, and he, like a fool, chose beauty. I would have chosen power. David said he would have chosen wisdom, but I think he would have chosen power too. He was just trying to be contrary. He was like that. Anyway, Paris picked beauty, so the Goddess of Love promised that he would marry the most beautiful woman in the world. That was Helen. The problem was that Helen was already married to someone else. But Paris so loved her beauty that he, who was a prince, stole her away from Troy, enraging her husband. Troy and Greece, Paris's kingdom, had a huge war over Helen and her beauty. She had the power to launch a thousand ships. That was when I knew it - the secret to having power and being a woman was beauty. If you were beautiful, you could do anything. That's what all those powerful girls in the Cloisters had in common - they were almost all either beautiful or rich. I had no way to control my wealth - few women do - and so I would reach for power in the only way I could - by becoming beautiful.  
  
I told David of my theory, and he sat there for what seemed like forever. I could see his brow wrinkling in rare thoughtfulness. Finally, he looked at me and said, "I guess so. But Delia.that can't be it. It might be one way to power, but there have got to be others. I mean, beauty doesn't last forever. You get ten or twenty years, but then it fades away, and you're left as powerless as before."  
  
I was quiet for a moment. I had never thought about that before. Finally I came up with an answer. "All right, that's true. But beauty is still the first key. There are other ways to power, but you need to be beautiful first. Then the doors open, and not until then. So first I need to become beautiful. And you need to help me."  
  
David looked worried for a moment and finally said "All right. What do you want?"  
  
We studied what men thought was beautiful. A girl has to be skinny. I didn't eat for weeks on end until finally David told me that I was getting too skinny, and snuck up cakes and cookies for me at night, refusing to leave till I would eat them all. It had not ever occurred to me to throw these confections up like others did. That didn't come till later. At any rate, David kept me sane, kept me healthy at that time. I worked at my lessons in earnest. I practiced my curtsies for David, and he would say "You're wobbling, Delia." Or, more accurately, "You're wobbling, Helen." For, after our conversation about Helen and The Iliad, Helen was his nickname for me.  
  
As the weeks went on, I became beautiful. The priestesses complimented me on it. The other girls looked at me enviously, and were kind. Yes, I thought that this was it. I had found the key. 


	4. Parting Is No Sweet Sorrow

Fight Like A Girl  
Chapter 4 - Parting Is No Sweet Sorrow  
  
AN: First off, thanks to 'Me', Evilstrawberry, and Rhiannon for reviewing! I love getting reviews, so keep them coming, please. I'm going back to college today, so things will probably be a bit hectic, and updating might be a bit slow. I'll try not to be slow though, and I'm sending this off before I leave for you all to enjoy. So.enjoy (  
  
Once someone told me at a party that an odd religious faction in the Yamani Islands or somewhere believed that all life was suffering. Even joyful things are suffering because the person experiencing them knows that they must end. At the time I tittered along with the other guests at those Yamani and their ignorance, but I think now that they have the right of it. That's exactly how I felt the last months before David left for the City of the Gods to continue with his training as a mage. All the boys that were David's age were looking forward to being away from all these clucking girls, and David was excited too, but at times I knew that he didn't want to go. I know that I didn't want him to go. Sometimes I would catch him looking at me, and I could tell that he didn't want to leave me. He was my friend. My only true friend that I've ever had, I think, and then.but that is for later. Anyway, those last months we would be sitting together talking about something or another, and I would be struck by the terrible perfection of it all. We were two great friends, and we were together, and all was right by the world. And then I knew that he would be gone in two short months, and I would be left with half a soul. He, who was so much a part of me, who had pulled me out of my despair, would be gone. He was my wit, my laugh, my smile. Ever since he left, I do not think I have really laughed properly.  
  
At these times, when the perfection of a moment filled me with despair, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and keep him here with me forever and ever. How could I go on without him? How could I become powerful without his support?  
  
Once I actually began to cry. I didn't mean to, but it was just one week before he was to leave, and I couldn't stand the thought that another boy would live in his room, take his spot in the dining room or classes. And I cried. David saw this, and, well, he has always been the best person I've ever known. He understood me perfectly. He put his arm around me and, with all the tenderness a boy of his age can muster, he said "It's all right Delia. I know, I understand, it's killing me too. I don't know how I can stand it over at the City of the Gods without you. But I will. And you'll survive here too. You'll become just as powerful as you always wanted, and so will I, and when I'm the most powerful mage in the world, and you're the most powerful woman, we'll meet again, and the world will bow before us. No one will ever push us around then. We'll have complete power over our own destinies, and if I want to eat with you, and paint the walls of the dormitories with sludge from the swamps, no one will dare stop me. And if you want to paint your face with mud like warpaint, and run around with a sword, or throw your needlework in the pig pen, no one will dare stop you. And we'll be together forever, doing what we like, and live happily ever after."  
  
Wasn't he wonderful? On the day before he left he snuck into my room and we stayed up all night talking and laughing. Finally the time when he had to leave approached, and he hugged me, saying "Well, this is it, Helen. " and giving me a quick grin. Then he saw my face. He must have known that I was upset that he could just joke about such an important thing, and so then he came back.  
  
"Delia, I swear to you that I'll write as soon as I get to the City of the Gods. I'll give you an address to write to then, and it will almost be like talking every day."  
  
"No it won't be," I answered stubbornly.  
  
"No. It won't be," he agreed sadly. Then he hugged me again and kissed me on the cheek like a brother.  
  
"I'll be dying of boredom without you, Delia," he said, "So hurry up and make your debut at Court so that I can come visit you. Of course, by then you'll be so surrounded by admirers that I probably won't be able to get through to see you."  
  
"By then you'll probably be a great mage, and I'll have to make an appointment to meet with you in between all your meetings with royalty."  
  
"I'd let you in before all of them. They can wait outside while we have food fights," he promised.  
  
"And all my admirers can just go and cool their heels for a bit; the first time I see you at court I'll dance only with you the whole night."  
  
"It's a promise then."  
  
He held out his hand, and we shook on it. He smiled at me, and I smiled at him, and then he was gone.  
  
In the morning the sun rose as it always did, and always will till the end of time, no matter what good friends part. Still, to me, it did not rise in the same way. It had lost a bit of its sparkle, of its joy. For a moment the world seemed bleak and desolate, and despair crept into my mind. I thought to throw back my head and scream, a desolate cry of anguish and loss, but I stopped myself from such pointless melodrama. I still had some pride. Still, my world seemed destroyed. David, my one friend, was gone. What did I have now? Then my goal appeared before my mind's eye, a saving grace of sorts. Helen of Troy. How could I have forgotten my ambition so quickly? I wiped my eyes, pinched my cheeks, put on my nicest gown, and prepared to make my debut in the world of ladies, to begin my transformation into Helen of Troy. 


	5. An Hour's Conversation

Fight Like A Girl  
  
Chapter 5  
  
An Hour's Conversation  
  
From the moment I stepped into the hallway on my first day on my way to becoming Helen of Troy, on my first day without David, the other girls were shocked. My transformation was complete. I went from a tomboyish young girl with no manners and a wretched habit of laughing at inopportune times to a sweet, charming young lady with impeccable manners. I had perfected the polite titter of laughter, had acquired an engaging manner of speaking about boring things, and a way of shaming others with a lift of my eyebrow. I felt well equipped to begin my transition from Delia, David's strange friend, to Delia, the next Helen of Troy.  
  
The most powerful girls in the convent were without a doubt Cybil and Ophelia. They were both beautiful, from good families, and had the rest of the convent at their beck and call. They need only mention that their throats were a touch dry and a dozen girls were tripping over themselves for the honor of fetching a drink of water. Well-bred young ladies were willingly reduced to servants. That was truly power. That was what I wanted.  
  
They were considered fast friends, but I knew better. I saw the envious gleam that entered Ophelia's eyes when Cybil laughed in that manner she had that showed off her jewelry, saw that momentary crack in her ever present smile when Cybil paraded about in a new dress. For the truth was that Ophelia's family of Elsinore, while of impeccable breeding and respected name, was becoming steadily poorer. There are some girls whose inherent nobility can survive a fall to poverty, but Ophelia was not one of those. Her self-worth was wrapped up in clothes and jewels, and without those things she was simply another girl with a middling pretty face. The Elsinores had thus far kept their impending indigence a secret. I only knew of it because David's family were close relations to those of Elsinore, and had lent them a good deal of money - a matter which David, of course, was meant to be ignorant of, but had discovered anyways, as he was wont to do. It was, however, a secret that could not be kept forever, no matter how much they denied their serfs to clothe Ophelia and the other girls in a manner befitting their station. Ophelia knew down to the last copper what she was worth, and as that number got lower her distress became more evident to my attentive eyes. She was desperate to prove her worth, her nobility, and this caused her to snap at girls of families that were not so well respected. She had grown fond of pompous speeches about how any tradesmen can make a couple gold nobles, but that doesn't make them actually noble. Her bloodline could be traced back, unbroken, unsullied, even farther than that of the Contes themselves. Her obsession with impeccable breeding slighted other girls, and although very few spoke out - no one would dare challenge one as powerful as she in this microcosm of the Court - I was of the opinion that there were very few who would jump to her defense if she should fall from grace. She was primed for a fall, and oh but I was ready for it too.  
  
When I had discussed my plan to usurp Ophelia's place in the Cloisters, to perhaps precipitate that fall if I could, David had been uneasy.  
  
"How would you make her fall, Delia?" he'd asked.  
  
"Oh, I suppose I'd have to find out her secrets. More of them, at any rate. Her family's poverty isn't so much of a secret as it once was, and I doubt that it will be secret at all once I'm ready to make my move. And anyways, I don't believe that would dislodge her quickly enough, cleanly enough. She's been preparing for it - when it comes out she'll just go on about breeding being superior to money. No, I need something better."  
  
"And how would you find this better secret?"  
  
"I.well, I suppose I'd get her to tell me, wouldn't I?" I had answered, wondering at the odd tone in his voice.  
  
"And you'll just overhear as she talks in her sleep, will you?" he'd asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.  
  
"No, of course not. David, I'm not an idiot," I had laughed. "I'd get her to tell me."  
  
"But to get her to confide secrets in you.you'd have to make friends with her."  
  
"Yes, I would. Ugh, it sounds wretched doesn't it? Friends with that witch?" I made a face.  
  
"And then you'll betray her," he'd said, more of a statement than a question.  
  
"Yes, and take her place. Well, I never said it'd be pleasant, but it has to be done, David."  
  
"But Delia.to exploit her friendship, her secrets.it seems so cruel."  
  
"The road to power is cruel, David!" I had declared, drawing myself up, filled with self-righteousness. "You said yourself that powerful spells can wreak havoc on nature, that every bit of power you use has consequences elsewhere. Well, when you're a powerful mage, you'll have to learn to use those spells in spite of the consequences! It's brutal, and it's cruel, but you'll have to cast spells when you know that doing so will have horrendous consequences somewhere else, will hurt someone else. A king, in order to rule, must be brutal. He kills those who conspire against him, or he loses his power. If getting power were easy, then everyone would have it. To be strong, you must be brutal. You must prove yourself worthy of power!"  
  
David had fallen silent at this. "Maybe," he said. "Power, like all things, must have a price. But, Delia, could you be that brutal?"  
  
"I'll do what I have to for power!" I had insisted.  
  
"But you're not brutal! I'm not either! Mages have it easy - we don't have to see the damage we do most of the time. Could you make a friend, get her trust you, and then betray her like that?"  
  
"I'd.I'd have to get used to it is all. It might take awhile, but I'll make myself do it. I have to."  
  
"Then.could you ever betray me like that?" His eyes had been overlarge with uncertainty, and I thought he was biting the inside of his mouth like he does when he's anxious.  
  
"No! No, David, never! I'd never betray you, not ever. I'll make myself be brutal because I have to, and I'll make myself betray others since I have to, but I would never betray you, not for anything. You're the best person I've ever known. Ophelia - she's a snake, David, and you know it. Don't you remember how she picked on poor little Elline last year? And for no reason! She was so miserable she became a priestess, just retired from public life. Surely a girl who destroys other people like that isn't worth sympathy, isn't on the same level as you are. I'll make myself act like a cruel traitor towards witches like Ophelia, but that's not who I am; I'd never betray you, David, my real, true friend. Once I have power, I won't have to act that way any more, I can be myself again, and we'll be together again, the truest friends in Tortall - no, in all the world!"  
  
I had spoken so earnestly that I almost cried, and David grinned and told me I was acting like a wimp of a girl, and we had gone on to a different topic. That conversation haunted me now that I was going to begin my brutal ascent to power. I had vowed that I would do brutal things, would act a traitor, and now it would begin.  
  
I knew where I was going, what I was going to do. I put on my most flattering smile, and waltzed over to the corner of the sitting room reserved for Ophelia and Cybil. I sat by Ophelia's feet, and picked up the threads of conversation that had been dropped along with the collective jaws of the girls when I'd entered, radically changed as I was.  
  
A few wanted to ask impertinent questions, but lost their nerve when faced with my utter dexterity in manipulating the conversation. They knew when they were up against a master, and I have always been a master of conversation. One girl, Blaise of Netfeld, ventured a scathing comment thinly veiled with a compliment, "My, Delia, I am so pleased to enjoy your company. We have seen so little of you before today! You can no doubt educate us on so much - the handling of snakes and mice, the precise art of spitting? These are the pastimes you seem to have engaged yourself in these past years, you and your friend.David, was it?"  
  
I was prepared for this, and had an answer more or less prepared, although I could not have imagined the good fortune of having one such as Blaise as my attacker. I smiled and prepared to fight back. There are those who would say that I am as quick with my tongue as the Lioness ever was with a sword.  
  
"Surely you will not deny me the carefree pleasures of youth? I should hate to have been one of those stuffy children with no propensity for fun. I find that such children often grow to be rather bland adults, boring everyone they engage in conversation, till no one wants to engage them at all! I should hate to be so blasé, Blaise. Far more interesting are those with an inherent sense of wit and interesting conversation who are often prone to somewhat madcap childhoods but infallibly grow into vivacious and captivating adults. I hope to count myself in the latter category.but you are free to embrace the former with as much vehemence as you see fit," I said with a laugh and toss of my hair.  
  
The others laughed with me, and Blaise flushed angrily. To be a bore was perhaps the worst sentence that could be passed on a girl new to the courtly world and of modest fortune. Blaise was one of these, and much of her family's standing depended upon her popularity at Court. A rich or well- connected girl could afford to be boring, but not one of Blaise's precarious standing. What's more, in connecting the name Blaise with blasé, pointing out the manner in which they complimented each other, I had subtly suggested a nickname that could haunt her for the rest of her days. Why should anyone want to talk to Blasé Blaise? What hope had such a bore of marrying above her? I had even hinted to such a bleak outcome - who should want to engage her indeed, in conversation or marriage? It was the most subtle of threats, but I felt confident that she understood. She did not reply, but rather glared at her needlework, every line of her body hunched in angry defeat.  
  
Ophelia placed an approving hand on my shoulder and Cybil said, "I doubt anyone could ever describe you as blasé, Delia. You are an utter delight."  
  
With such a commendation, my place in the hierarchy was as concrete as an hour's conversation could make it. I have made many mistakes in my life, and you can say what you like of treason and such, but surely everyone must admit that that hour's conversation was skillfully done? 


	6. Friendships Formed

Fight Like A Girl  
Chapter 6  
Friendships Formed  
  
AN: Thanks again to all the nice people who review, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry that this chapter is so short, but I've got all this work. Ugh. Why did I ever want to learn Japanese anyway? Not to mention who needs to read Middle English. Middle English! I have enough trouble with the modern stuff. Oh well, I hope this chapter is okay. I'll try and write another one this weekend.  
  
~~  
  
My star continued to rise in the Cloisters. Cybil and Ophelia invited me to go walking with them and their inner circle, and I was so pleasant, so clever, that I soon found myself walking between Cybil and Ophelia. Other girls cast envious glances in my direction, perhaps lamenting that a new comer such as myself could have found favor so quickly when they had been trying to curry favor with Cybil and Ophelia for months, sometimes even years, and were only on the very outskirts of their circle. I was a special friend to Cybil and Ophelia, but I still needed something to induce Ophelia divulge some secret to me, some confidence important enough to break her and make me. That moment came after a few months in her company. A whisper of the poverty of the family of Elsinore swept through the streets and up to the noble houses. Eventually one girl, Adela of Nond, was brave enough to allude to that fact in conversation. Jacqueline of Tirrsmont had gotten a new dress and was showing it off to the girls. Ophelia's mouth drew itself into a tight line as it always did when other girls made their wealth apparent. My eyes were no longer the only ones that noticed. Adela smiled in an almost predatory manner (I hate to think that I look like that, but I suppose at times I must), and said, "Jacqueline, dear, please show some restraint. You know of poor Ophelia's.situation."  
  
Ophelia's head jerked towards Adela. "And just what situation would that be, Adela?" she demanded, her voice crackling like ice breaking.  
  
The group of girls tittered softly, eyes gleaming like a pack of jackels about to turn on their own. Ophelia's hands trembled slightly with panic as she closed her fan. Cybil, her 'truest friend', sat back, her face remote, waiting to see what would happen. My moment had arrived.  
  
"She is, of course, referring to the rumors of the scullery maids and stable boys. I should be ashamed to admit such.intimate.acquaintance with them. It is only the lady with the least respect for herself that must resort to the whispers of jealous commoners for conversation. Such rumors have no place in respectable society, and I am surprised that you give it such credence, Adela."  
  
Adela blushed, her eyes wide with confusion. The rest of the group was unsure of which side to choose. They knew by now that they did not want me as an enemy - the quick way in which I dispatched with Blaise that first day had ensured that.  
  
Then Cybil cleared her throat and said, " I thank you, Delia, for reminding us all that we are respectable ladies, not chits that work in the scullery. Well, most of us are, at any rate," she said giving Adela a condescending glance.  
  
The group laughed and Adela grew red. Her gambit had failed, the group was steadily back in my corner, and Ophelia sat back in relief. She shot me a quick smile and I knew she would not forget that it was I who had first jumped to defend her while Cybil would have been content to see which way the group would go and sacrifice her to the mob.  
  
I was not surprised, therefore, when Ophelia thought me out later. She smiled at me and said, "Delia, I must thank you for putting that rabble in their place earlier. Eldorne is a good family, going back many generations. You are another girl of good breeding with a family that is truly noble, not like that upstart Adela of Nond."  
  
There are few who would consider Nond an upstart family, but I did not say so. I merely smiled sympathetically.  
  
"I hate to see those chits attempting to slander one such as you, Your Grace." I was afraid for a moment I had played too much the sycophant, addressing her with a term of respect reserved for dukes, of which there were plenty in her family, but which did not give her the right to the honorific. I needn't have worried; Ophelia lived for praise of that sort, even if it was sycophantic in nature. She glowed at the praise, and tucked her arm into mine.  
  
"I have a feeling we shall be great friends, you and I," she said, and we walked off together, leaving Cybil with the rest of the inner circle. I didn't dare to look back and see her face. I barely dared to breathe - her confidence was mine now, I was sure of it. 


	7. The Madness of Ophelia Part 1

Fight Like A Girl Chapter 7 The Madness of Ophelia - Part I  
  
AN: OK, so I split this one in two 'cuz it's kinda long (well, longer than my usual at any rate), and, well, I can't get it all done today. But better to get something out than nothing, I figure. So yeah, enjoy. Now for some foreshadowing in quote form (ten points if you guess what's up with Ophelia.it's actually probably not that hard.but I'm going to pretend that this will come out of nowhere despite the vaguely Hamlet-related foreshadowing I've been dropping oh-so-cleverly):  
  
~~~  
  
"Ha, ha? Are you honest? . Are you fair?" - Hamlet in Hamlet 3.1 (lines 105- 6 in my book) ridiculously obscure foreshadowing. Twenty points if you get the relation of this quote to what's up with Ophelia. You know, besides the fact Hamlet's talking to Ophelia in the quote.  
  
~~~  
  
Ophelia and I cleaved together like friends from a fairy tale, making the reigning two of the Cloisters into a reigning three. We would sit together at meal times, share elaborate jokes that only we two - or if we were with Cybil, we three - could laugh at, and would sit in each other's rooms telling secrets. Well, I didn't divulge any true secrets. I didn't tell her about my secret ambitions, or the way I missed David so much it felt like an empty hole in my chest (which is what some people now suggest I have instead of a heart), or anything truly important at all. I would tell her that I missed my parents, or my nursemaid, or 'secret' stories about my mischief as a child. She revealed to me the truth of her impending poverty - which I knew already, of course. I smiled and tried to be as encouraging as possible and told her time and time again that true nobility was not measured in coins but in gentile breeding and refined behavior - two things that she excelled at.  
  
Though I doted upon her and our friendship outwardly, inwardly I was disgusted by her. Her constant prattle about bloodlines bordered on obsession - what did I care if twenty generations back she shared an ancestor with the Conté? Did she honestly think that made her a member of the royal family? Not to mention that the way she treated people disgusted me. It wasn't just that she turned up her nose at people - that was so common it hardly merits mention. She went out of her way to find a weak girl, a girl who was somewhat ugly, somewhat poor, somewhat different - and prey upon her, harp upon her, till the poor wretch's spirit was broken. She did this with a mixture of malice and desperation. If the group was busy tearing to shreds another girl, they would be distracted from her, and she could ward off the inevitable - the time when the group she had always led would turn on her, and destroy her just as she had used it to destroyed others.  
  
As she grew poorer she grew more malicious and spiteful, and she worried late into the night. She counted coins, bemoaned her foolish father for being unfit to provide for her, and traced her bloodlines compulsively. She began to look sallow and weary. She leaned on me increasingly. The other girls began to whisper among themselves, and Ophelia, rank with paranoia, knew that every whisper was about her, and she threw herself into zealous battle with these whisperers. So anxious was she that she forgot the weapons she had always made use of - her sharp tongue, her ready wit, her malicious mocking smile. She made wild, unrefined accusations, and announced that none of them deserved to even be in her presence, as she was a refined noblewoman and they were nothing but jumped up merchants and sluts.  
  
Popular opinion did not grow in her favor.  
  
One day she came back from a "shopping" excursion - which I knew were really family meetings at her Uncle's dilapidated home on the subject of how to scrape together enough coins to last out the season in the vain hope that an exceedingly bountiful harvest would save them in the fall - with her eyes bright from anger, her cheeks red in an unappealing contrast to the paleness of the rest of her face, her gait and appearance having the air of a madwoman. She ranted and raved to the whole sitting room that she was a true noblewoman, that the Elsinores went back to the Book of Gold, and that no whore's brat was to even speak to her without going through the proper channels. She shrieked that none of them had any right to even speak to her, to even look at her, that we should all avert our eyes from her face, should curtsy as to a monarch, and most definitely should not whisper about her. She then stormed out of the room, leaving behind her an uneasy silence. I thought she had surely gone mad.  
  
I looked over to Cybil, whose expression was thoughtful, and not at all filled with the alarm that would be expected from the madness of a friend. She took up her embroidery once more, and raised her eyebrows at some of the girls as if to say 'yes? Weren't you doing something other than engaging in gossip?' She looked the utter picture of refinement, especially when contrasted with Ophelia's outburst. Cybil always was opportunistic. Even I could never beat her on that count.  
  
Ophelia had reached her nadir on that day. She raged and ranted for two weeks after that, although never to such an extent, never so publically. She actually gnashed her teeth and tore her hair - actions which I had thought reserved to melodramatic stories. She then began to disappear nearly every day for hours at a time. No one knew where she went, and she was quite ingenuous at discovering ways to evade the watchful eyes of the Mithran priestesses. This secret was kept as secret as the priestesses could keep it. They did not want it common knowledge that young ladies could elude them so easily. The Mithran Cloisters were supposed to be a safe place for young nobility, and they could not have that reputation compromised. Cybil and myself were the only girls to know about Ophelia's mad escapes, and we did not tell a soul. We were both playing our cards close to our chests. The other girls thought Ophelia was ill, and no doubt had speculations about her mental health, but had no idea of the extent of her madness.  
  
This period had its own turning point. One day she returned from a lengthy disappearance sopping wet, her gown clinging to her and stained red with blood. She was shaking for the cold, but she was laughing - not for hysteria as I had thought at first, but for joy. Her eyes glinted with a rare light, and she seemed happier than I had ever seen her before. She claimed she'd gone swimming, and that the blood came from a cut on her hand, which she readily produced and waved about in front of our faces like it was a badge of honor. The priestesses bundled her into bed, their faces drawn with fear - not for her, I maintain that to this day, but of the dishonor that would be done to their institution should Ophelia truly hurt herself on these adventures of hers.  
  
Her excursions got more wild. She snuck back, hair undone, dress rumpled, telling tales of exploring the forests or more obscure paths. The priestesses proved an utter failure at stopping her, and they did not tell anyone, still hoping that they could stop her on their own and avoid censure.  
  
One night I crept into her room. The priestesses saw me, I have no doubt - I was not gifted with sneaking about as Ophelia was - but they let me go. They were desperately hoping Cybil or myself could bring her back to her old, cruel, brutal, refined, proper self. She was climbing in her window as I entered. Her hair was undone, flying wildly in her face. Her eyes gleamed in a manner that I can only describe as crazed, repetitious though I may be. She grinned wider than I have ever seen someone grin before. At that moment I grew tired of being cautious, of waiting for the mystery to be revealed, of allowing my status to hinge on so mysterious a variable as she. I seized her by the arm, pushed her into her armchair, and in harsh whispers demanded that she tell me where she had been, what she was thinking.  
  
"I was walking through the meadows, and there was a beautiful sky, and I picked flowers - look! Here, I have some violets for you, my faithful friend. Violets mean faithfulness, you know. I thought fennel for flattery, for you do flatter me so, Delia dear, but violets are far more beautiful you know. What should I give Cybil? More violets?"  
  
She pushed a bouquet of violets into my hands and stood. She began to giggle, and hummed a silly tune under her breath, a tune I'd heard common milkmaids sing in the springtime. My irritation grew. She would not hide behind simpleness, I would not let her.  
  
"Ophelia!" I cried, "Are you mad? What sort of way is this to act? Is this befitting a member of the family of Elsinore? Do you think any member of the family of Conté would act like this?"  
  
"Oh, what do I care for the family of Elsinore, or the family of Conté? I've found something far better than any name or bloodline," she laughed.  
  
I was stuck dumb for a moment. Was this the same girl who could name her every kinsmen, from the highest Duke to the lowest lord? What was more important to her than her ancestry?  
  
I gathered my wits and I asked her. "What? What is more important than your family name?"  
  
And she told me. I had to sit down, and fight back the urge to faint with surprise and laugh with glee. She was a fool, and now I had her.  
  
~~~  
  
Last AN (I should put it either at the beginning or the end, not both, but whatever): I guess this is kind of a cliffhanger, and I'm sorry for that, but I'll get the next bit out as soon as I can. There Ophelia's strange actions will be explained, and I hope that you don't find it too cliché or anything. Thank you to everyone who reviews, and please keep it coming, I appreciate it a lot. And leave your guesses about what Ophelia's been up to and what she's going to do. I wonder if I've laid the Hamlet- hints as well as I hoped.or maybe made it too obvious, who knows. At any rate, do review, and thanks very much for reading this far. 


	8. The Madness of Ophelia Part II

Fight Like A Girl  
Chapter 8  
The Madness of Ophelia - Part II  
  
AN: Thank you to everyone for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
Congratulations to 'Me', who got what was going on with Ophelia - yay! Evilstrawberry, well, no one knows what you thought it was but you, but I hope you had the right idea too ( At any rate, thanks for reviewing, and  
onward to the second half of Ophelia's madness.  
  
~~~  
  
Ophelia spun around, her hair undone, cascading down over her shoulders. She looked mad and beautiful, and she laughed.  
  
"Oh, Delia," she said to me, "I am in love!"  
  
My first thought was to laugh at her and demand that she stop telling stories. I'm afraid I've always had a rather cynical view towards romance, and I thought that Ophelia was playing upon the inherent sense of the romantic that all women are assumed to have, the sort that makes it so that the moment someone brings up flowers or nighttime serenades all logical thoughts and arguments go out of their heads. I'm happy to say that there isn't the flower grown or the song written that could make me lose my head. It was a different case with Ophelia. I very quickly realized that this tale of love was no lie on her part.  
  
"What happened?" I demanded, my mind whirling to discover what this might mean for me, for my hard-earned social standing. "Tell me from the beginning."  
  
She looked for a moment as though she would refuse. She should have. If I had been foolish enough to ever let affairs of the heart interfere with my ambition I should never have admitted to anybody. Ophelia, however, was too far gone in this business to care about repercussions. Hers was the disease of infatuation that leads its victims to believe that everything outside of their transient joy is immaterial, and she wanted only to share her happiness with me. Fool.  
  
She waltzed to the window with the air of a dramatic player and began her story. "Do you recall the day I returned from town angry and cursing? When I yelled at all the girls in the sitting room?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," I answered, remembering all too clearly the day that, in my mind at least, marked her descent into this strange manic haze that she named love.  
  
"On that day I heard from my father that we did not have enough money to buy me more than three dresses for the new season. Just three! How could a respectable young lady start out the season with only three dresses?"  
  
I nodded in agreement. No wonder she had been distraught - I myself had no less than three dozen dresses for the next season. You may laugh and call this vanity, but understand that for a lady such as myself a fine gown is as necessary as a good sword is for a knight. You would not begrudge a knight his varied armory, nor should you begrudge me mine.  
  
"In the carriage my father and I fought once more. I despaired that we were paupers, and he claimed that I was acting as uncouth as one. I announced - perhaps foolishly, though I cannot regret it now - that if I was dressed as a pauper and acting like one, then the transformation should be complete. I jumped out of the carriage determined to walk to short distance back to the Cloisters."  
  
This in itself was enough to dumbfound me. She might solely credit her newfound love for the drastic change in her decorum, but that could not be all. The old Ophelia should never have acted in this manner. Not only was it dangerous, but it was an admission of her poverty. She would never have admitted to having less than the other girls. To do so would be an acknowledgment of inferiority, and she had always believed herself superior to every girl at the Cloisters. I believe that the threat of a season with a pauper's wardrobe and the cruel reception that she knew would receive when the season came unhinged her, and that any claims of love she might make stemmed from that madness whose seed lay in her poverty.  
  
However, I kept these thoughts to myself and listened quietly as she unfolded the rest of her tale.  
  
"As I was walking away, I met a boy named Thomas. He expressed sympathy for me and my predicament. For a moment I was shocked. I thought he knew who I was, knew of my family's troubles. But no, that's not the case at all! He thought - now, Delia, this is very shocking, so you may wish to sit down at this point - he thought that I was a prostitute! Before you say anything, it was merely because I was a young woman storming out of a noblemen's carriage, and that my dress was not as fine as it should have been, and that I was so angry. And you see, this is really just an instance of his inherent sweetness - he was kind and sympathetic even to a supposed streetwalker!"  
  
Yes, she was quite mad. To excuse such a slight to her character.no lady could ever forgive that. And she had been quite angry at first, as she related: "I became so angry, Delia! I believe I actually swore at him - yes me, I swore - before I informed him of my status. He apologized - oh, he is such a sweet dear when he stutters! - but I was already so angry that I stormed off once more before I arrived at the Cloisters and spoke so to the girls here."  
  
"But why did you ever meet with him again? I should never have wanted to even see such a wretch again! How could you have sought him out?" I asked, egging her on in her story, attempting to piece together the full series of events.  
  
"Oh, but he sought me out. Truly, he is as kind as any knight. He wished to apologize to me! I would not see him at first, of course, but then he convinced me.he made such a claim, Delia. He said he had spoke to me at first because he wanted to know me, and that whether I was a streetwalker or a great lady, he still wanted to be near me. I was so very confused.a streetwalker and a lady are so far apart, they cannot possibly be compared! But he believed that who I was, my very essence, did not depend upon my status or my wealth. And that was what attracted him to me. Can you imagine, Delia?" she asked, her eyes wide with the madness that I was beginning to think bore some resemblance to freedom.  
  
I understood why she had fallen so for that common boy. It was not his kindness, as she claimed, or good looks, or any other of the often cited causes for romance. He had offered her a point of view that she had never considered before - the idea that she was a person independent of her family, of her name, of her wealth. This person would be unassailable. She might lose all her money, even her title, but this person would be untouched. This notion might not be so foreign to others, but to one such as Ophelia, whose sense of identity from the cradle onward had been so tied up in titles and bloodlines and, of course, wealth, the idea of a being that was apart from all of that, that was simply Ophelia, was revolutionary. Perhaps it is cynical, but I believe that she fell in love more with the notion of this independence than with Thomas himself. In a time when all that she defined herself by was falling away, she clung with the force of impassioned youth to the harbinger of the idea that she was more than her wealth, and that she could survive this fall.  
  
As for myself, I have always had a distinct understanding of who I am, apart from station. I am ambitious, perhaps to a fault, but rather than seeking favor or advancement to further define myself, to make myself worthwhile, I seek such things because the act of seeking, of climbing, of grasping for more is who I am. It is in my very nature to see a situation and want control, power- in short, to want more. I would be the same were I grasping for a few more crumbs of bread in a poverty-stricken orphanage or grasping for a crown in a glittering court. Though it pains me to say it, I think I might be like that girl, Alanna, in this respect. Were I, through a different course of events, thrown into the physical training of a knight, I would have practiced, just as she had, I would have sweat and bled and tried until I was the best too, for that is the measure of power in the brotherhood of knights and squires. But I was not in that arena of brutally straightforward physicality; I was in the cunning world of the Cloisters, and would be part of the even more cunning world of the Court. So I practiced, worked till I nearly cried and fainted, until I was the best, and had gotten control of as much as possible. And then it all fell apart.  
  
But now is the time for Ophelia's story, not my own laments.  
  
"We saw each other near every day from then on," Ophelia continued. "He swears he loves me, and I love him, and we shall be together forever from now on!"  
  
I could not let this naïve statement pass without censure. "But Ophelia, show a little sense. You will have to go to Court, to marry at the least, and then this.affair.with your Thomas-"  
  
"I shall not marry!" she interrupted with an air of defiance she had never before exhibited. "I shall not marry anyone but Thomas, and he shall marry no one but me, and there is nothing that anyone can do to stop it - not my father, not my uncle, not even the King himself!"  
  
"And just how do you expect to prevent some nobleman, or rich merchant with an eye on your title, from marrying you? Your parents will force you; you wouldn't be the first woman pushed into an unwanted, loveless marriage," I said in exasperation, perhaps a little cruelly.  
  
She was not perturbed. "But I have thought of that, Delia. No man will ever marry me, for I have already given myself, and not to any nobleman or merchant, either."  
  
For a moment my blood seemed to stop. A shock of incredulity, amazement, accompanied by an undercurrent of glee went through me as visions of too-bright eyes, undone hair, and a blood-stained dress filled my mind.  
  
"What have you done, Ophelia?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.  
  
She threw back her head and, with the air of one reciting a revolutionary manifesto, declared, "I have given myself to him and he to me. No other man shall ever marry me for I am no longer a virgin."  
  
I sat down heavily on the bed, ostensibly from shock, but really to allow myself time to think. This was it, this was the monumental blunder I had been waiting for. I could destroy her with this, could be that much closer to sole rule of the Cloisters. The pack was ready to turn on Ophelia, and she had opened herself to the perfect attack. The pretentious Ophelia who traced her bloodlines farther back than the Contés themselves, ruining that precious lineage by rutting with a commoner. The group would shun her. More than shun her - they would make her life here a misery. Her family might even disown her. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. She could have her common boy if that was what she wanted - and I, I would have the Cloisters. I would be the undisputed leader of these girls, equal only to Cybil.  
  
"Ophelia, I'm afraid your thrilling tale has worn me out. If you'll excuse me.?"  
  
"Of course, dear. Go to your rooms and take your flowers. I feel better now that I've told you. I hope that one day you can take part in a happiness as great as mine!" she announced with a wild grin.  
  
She shoed me off, humming to herself a love song, and I went to bed, scheming and plotting to bring her down the very next day. The moment I had been anticipating for so long, the moment of my ascension, was at hand.  
  
As I dropped off to sleep, plans for my first great betrayal filling my head, I looked over to where Ophelia's flowers lay on the side table. They were violets, for faithfulness. 


	9. A Letter From David

Fight Like A Girl Chapter 9 A Letter From David  
  
AN: Well, here's the next bit. Once again, it was supposed to be the beginning of a longer chapter, but I ended up falling asleep so..it now stands alone. I hope everyone enjoys it anyway. First off, sorry to Livinia for not putting in congrats on her correct guess about what was wrong with Ophelia. Your review didn't come up till after I updated. But now, yay Livina, you got it right. To 'Me', I'd like it if Ophelia could just get pregnant so that Delia doesn't have to betray her too, but Delia has to betray her. Delia is going to get steadily worse and worse. After all, she is still the villainess we all know and love. The Delia we see in The Song of the Lioness is, in my opinion, quite capable of betraying someone, and I need to get her to that point before she goes to Court. Of course, seeing as how long it takes me to get anything done, that might take a bit ~_~ Anyways, I hope you feel better, 'Me'. Nip, well, I wasn't really planning on writing about her time in prison, but if people really want me to and the inspiration strikes me, I might. We'll see how it goes. As it is, I've got quite a bit to go till that point. Enjoy everyone!  
  
~~~  
  
That night I dreamed. I was walking through a field of violets, and Ophelia was laughing and spinning in a wild dance. She held a bouquet of flowers, and I saw that she had chains looped around her wrists. She wore her blood-stained dress. She danced her way in front of me and held out the bouquet for me to take. I did so, and as I held it the flowers fell away and I was holding her heart, bleeding and beating. It quickly stained my hands red, and I screamed. I looked up in horror and saw that blood was pouring from a gaping hole in her chest and from between her legs. I felt sick, and threw her heart back at her, while backing away.  
  
The heart fell on the ground and bled the violets red. Ophelia screamed and wept and collapsed to her knees beside it. Then the heart became a pool of water and swallowed her up. She was drowning. I went to pull her up, and as I did so the water turned to blood and I ended up holding her down, even though I didn't intend to. When she died, I screamed and let her up. Then she opened her eyes, white and frost-covered, and smiled at me. I screamed once more and she embraced me. Then she let me go and fell back into the pool, her face serene as the water swallowed her up. That was when I realized that she had slipped out of her chains and that they now bound me.  
  
I woke up with a gasp and checked my wrists, which were, of course, unfettered, and my hands, which bore no trace of red. I sighed and lay back in my bed, but a chill went through me once more as I saw the violets on the table. I felt the overwhelming urge to sit in a corner and cry, to shout 'this is too hard for me!' I wished that I was a child again, that my nurse could pick me up and sing me to sleep like she did when I had nightmares then. I reminded myself of all the horrible things that Ophelia had done, that she deserved this betrayal, truly she did, and that power has a price, now it was simply time to pay it.  
  
Still, the gruesome images of my dream haunted me, and I whimpered quietly to myself. But I would not cry. 'Who are you?' I demanded of myself. 'Are you some meek maid? Are you some simpering weakling? Or are you the next Helen of Troy? You always knew you would have to betray people to gain power; don't turn into a pathetic little girl now that the hour is at hand. Only fools work for power and then give it up at the last moment.'  
  
Yes, power has a price. The world is divided into those who would pay it and those who would not - the powerful and the weak, the strong and the cowardly. I would not be a coward. I was strong and had worked hard and deserved power. I did.  
  
Still, I wanted some validation. I took out a piece of parchment and wrote David. I told him the story, told him what I knew I had to do, told him of my dream, my misgivings, all of it. And, in the closest I have come to an admission of helplessness since the day I decided to become the next Helen of Troy, I asked him for his advice.  
  
I sent off the letter in the morning, and decided not to make a move until he wrote back. I recognized this procrastination as a form of weakness and cowardice, but no matter how often I steeled myself in private, I could not bring myself to speak the words of betrayal in public. Those days were an anguished internal struggle covered by my usual careless front, and they were utterly miserable.  
  
His letter came so quickly that he must have sent it the very next day, but the space between my plea and his response felt so long I thought I should go mad with the waiting, with the anguished looks around to see if anyone else had uncovered Ophelia's secret. When I got his letter I nearly tore up the stairs to my rooms, flung myself into my windowseat, and ripped open the wax seal to read his words.  
  
'Dear Delia,  
  
Well, I'm not sure whether congratulations or condolences are in order here. Condolences for your indecision, of course, but also congratulations because you have executed your plan so superbly, and also, although you might not see it this way, because you feel bad. Let me explain. Do you remember that time you said you would act like a wretched snake, but that wouldn't be who you truly were? Well, to tell you the truth, I was a little frightened then. I thought that you would lose yourself in your act. But the very fact that you are so repulsed by the act of betrayal, even when it is something so vital to your plan, proves that you're still the same old Delia. If you could betray her without blinking, then I'd be concerned.  
  
This might be a cold comfort, but the fact that you feel miserably indecisive isn't a mark of your cowardice; it's a mark of your strength of character. It's something to be proud of. There's nothing admirable about a vicious girl with no feeling, who will betray and lie and cheat without a moment of remorse. In that case, a betrayal is merely a callous act, a lie just a cowardly way of avoiding the truth. You still retain all your human feeling, the part of you that makes you Delia, my friend, as opposed to merely Helen of Troy, your aspiration. I respect that aspiration, of course, but could never love that callous figure you've created and deified for yourself, not the way I love you. I know that you will push through your fears, Delia, and do these things that are hateful to you, and that is part of why I love and respect you so much. You are worthy of my admiration, worthy of everyone's admiration, because your betrayal is a sacrifice, your lie hurts you. Yet you commit these acts, not because you're a horrible person, but because you've made a goal for yourself, and will achieve that goal even if it kills you to do so.  
  
I know you're going to laugh at me, Del, but really you inspire me somehow. This work is hard, and in order to keep ahead of the others I have to half- kill myself working late into the night, draining my Gift till I'm passed out from exhaustion. And then the Masters scold me for working without their permission, and delegate me to scullery duty as punishment! But I know that you're suffering more than I am, and the knowledge that you're working so hard back at he Cloisters helps me keep going here at the City of the Gods. It's hard, Delia, but I do believe that we'll both achieve our dreams one day, and then all this pain and sacrifice, it will be worth it. We'll be the two most powerful people in Tortall, and you won't have to betray anyone again, or do what others order you, and I won't have to spend all night bowing and scraping to idiot Masters who are afraid that I'll become as powerful as they are.  
  
The best advice I can give you is to do what you have to, get it over with, and think about the great future we'll have once we're powerful and free of all these stupid games. And remember that I know who you really are, and that I love you, and know that you can get through everything.  
  
Your truest friend, David'  
  
I read the letter through twice, and sank back into the window seat. A sense of overwhelming contentedness, well-being, general relief permeated my whole attitude. I felt that I could do anything so long as he was behind me. He has always had the ability to put my troubles to one side, to made everything seem so possible. I could see the future we dreamed of so clearly, and the knowledge that I inspired him to work despite his own hardships filled me with a new sense of purpose. I could do this, I had to do this, and I would do this. David was counting on me. He loved me, he believed in me, and I would conquer the world for him, for me, for the both of us.  
  
Tomorrow, I would betray Ophelia. I replaced her violets with David's letter, and went to sleep. I did not dream that night; he chased away my nightmares. 


	10. Betrayal

Fight Like A Girl Chapter 10 Betrayal  
  
AN: I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in, oh, forever. School is really killing me lately. There's all sorts of complications and things I need to do if I want to study abroad next year, not to mention schoolwork.I won't go into it and bore you all. Suffice to say it's not fun. I'm sorry if this chapter isn't up to par, but I thought I should really just get it out. I'm sorry 'Me' that you've been kept waiting, but I do appreciate the reviews and reminders. Oh yeah - just to disclaimer a bit, Delia isn't really a good person. I don't think she's an evil one either. She's in between, like most people, so sometimes you feel sorry for her, and sometimes you don't much like her. Coming up will be parts where you don't much like her. Some of her beliefs are, to put it bluntly, wrong. But they're hers, not mine, so don't get mad at me.wow, now I've made this seem far worse than it's going to be. Just read the story ~_~  
  
And for a random, obscure Shakespeare quote that is only peripherally related to the story: "Look to the lady!" Banquo, in Macbeth 2.3:122  
  
Major points if you get the peripheral relation ( . Hint: he's talking about Lady Macbeth, who reminds me of Delia a lot on occasion. Like I said, enjoy  
  
~~~  
  
I woke the next morning filled with renewed determination. With purposeful strides, I returned to Ophelia's room and began, with a secretive smile and whispers of 'trust me', to extract her secrets from her. She was a fool; she has always been a fool. She clasped my hands and smiled when she explained how she met here lover at a large rock by the lake, divulged the time and place of her interludes. She named me her truest friend and confidant then, but I kept the vision of David and I together in front of my mind, hardened my heart, and told her she was my dearest friend while I plotted her destruction.  
  
I needed to ensure the appearance innocence in this dirty affair of the ruin of reputations. I could not simply spread rumors about Ophelia's doings - no, then I would be demoted to the role of mere malicious gossip. I wanted to be more than that. I must remain a pinnacle of ladylike conduct, above reproach. And thus I hatched my plan of accidentally happening upon Ophelia and her lover, a plan that could keep me innocent, would underline the difference between myself, the chaste lady, and Ophelia, the unrefined wanton.  
  
I had already taken to leading walks with some of the members of Ophelia and Cybil's circle. Cybil allowed me to lead these walks, noting my usurpation of this slight power with merely a raised eyebrow. That day anticipation and nerves made me giddy, added an extra note to my laugh, made my eyes brighter, flushed my cheeks. In short, it made me more beautiful. No one could have denied me anything in that state. Even Cybil's face gave away the fact that she was impressed with me.  
  
People will always gravitate towards beauty. There is something about it that calls the more drab things of nature. There is a flower whose sweet scent attracts hideous bugs that desire only to be near it, and then snaps shut around those repulsive specimens. Yet the insects always swarm to this flower, even though it brings them death. The beautiful, the powerful, will always attract and turn upon the weak and ugly - that is the natural order of things. I had made myself beautiful, and that day I would make myself powerful. I was the center of the group of girls. I was the vivacious queen and they were all glad to be in my presence. It is difficult to explain the extent of the joy that such a position brings; there is truly nothing in the world as heady as power and ambition combined. As I led them down the garden path, I suggested - daringly - that we take an illicit trip to the lakeside. With my eyes so bright, my posture so engaging, no one could refuse me. Even the most timid girl joined me in slipping through the gate and towards the lake.  
  
Only Cybil looked upon me with reserved, hooded eyes. She reminded me of a snake waiting for the opportune moment to strike, and for a moment I felt a shiver akin to fear, but shook it off. I had this whole group of girls in my thrall - what could Cybil do to stop me now? I giggled and began to spin a tale of the wondrous fairies that lived in the forest. The girls were rapt as ever, and a few of the more fanciful girls gasped in pleasure when I recounted the whimsical details of fairy jewels.  
  
I finished my tale with a mysterious smile and a promise of "And if you listen hard enough, sometimes, on still days like these, you can hear the fairies laughter."  
  
Inevitably the girls closed their eyes and strained their ears for this laughter. I had led them nearby the rock where Ophelia met her lover - inevitably distant a distant giggle reached our ears. I looked as shocked as anyone else, and one of the girls suggested a fairy hunt. We stealthily crept around the forest together, and I smiled to myself when I heard the telltale scream.  
  
We all raced towards the girl who had screamed, and stopped short at the scene we all saw, framed by tree branches, lighted green. Ophelia was pressed against a tree, her head flung back, her eyes rolled upwards, her dress on the forest floor. Her lover - obviously a commoner - covered her with his own bare body.  
  
"Ophelia?" asked one of the horror-stricken girls, as they alternated between covering their eyes with maidenly fear and sneaking looks at the only naked male form they had ever seen. I wanted to laugh at their foolish actions, but held my tongue.  
  
Ophelia opened her eyes slowly, disbelievingly, as her frightened lover made an attempt to retrieve her dress from among the forest leaves. Ophelia had spoken brave words in her chambers earlier. She had claimed that the love she felt for this boy was more important than her reputation, that she could withstand anything as long as she had him. I knew better; she had spent her whole life fretting about her social standing. No so- called love could possibly undo the values that had been ingrained in her since childhood. I saw her horror, her fear, her desperation. I saw when she woke from her beautiful little dream, when she cast her eyes on the boy beside her, awkwardly trying to dress, and instead of her handsome hero saw a common boy. I saw the disgust that flickered in her eyes.  
  
The girls deferred to me, looked to me. I could not have planned that. I thought they would look to Cybil, but no, every one of them turned to me, to see what sentence I, their queen, would pronounce on the errant Ophelia.  
  
Ophelia looked to me too. I knew she wanted some sort of aid. She thought I would save her - in the name of the friendship she had sworn to me earlier? Ha. I wondered at her foolishness. If I asked her to, she would betray this boy now. I saw it in her eyes. She was beast underneath, as are we all. She would turn on him, even though they had sworn love to each other, even though in the confines of her room she could promise to go against the world at his side. I believe that, if she had thought of it, she would have claimed he had forced her, would have cast herself the victim. She is no romantic heroine, no matter how much she might try to be. She is a daughter of the Cloisters, a jackal dressed in silks, and will use diamond teeth to destroy those she loves best to preserve herself. She would not have sacrificed herself for me, nor would I for her. How could she have expected quarter from me, when I was just like her?  
  
"Oh, Ophelia, how could you?" I asked, blanching convincingly, backing away in horror. If I had been born common - Mithros forbid - I should have been a player.  
  
"But-but Delia, I told you-" she began.  
  
"I thought you were telling stories, like my fairy story, like the stories of princesses from long ago. I never thought that you'd actually let a common boy." I trailed off, hiding my shocked face in my sleeves.  
  
No players' troupe could have staged it better. She reached out for me, and I shied away. She whirled around, looking for aid from any girl there. Not one gave her even a kind glance. She turned to Cybil, who turned away, face unreadable.  
  
There stood Ophelia, hair undone, her dress only half-done up, surrounded by the girls of the Cloisters. I stood opposite her, my hair in the latest style from Corus, my green dress pristine.  
  
"We should tell the priestesses," I said. "For her own good."  
  
The others nodded in agreement and we began to ascend the hill towards the Cloisters. Ophelia's lover reached out to hold her; she brushed him off, screamed, "Don't touch me, you filth!"  
  
I can only imagine his shocked expression. Foolish common boy. Didn't he realize she is a noblewoman? That her only allegiance was to herself? That she was faithless as a dog? To be fair, there is only one difference between Ophelia and myself. While she fumbled through life, wanting everything for herself, neither a true friend nor truly befriended, I had one comrade. David and I could conquer the world for each other, with each other, while alone, Ophelia could only fall into shame and dishonor.  
  
When the priestesses locked Ophelia in her rooms, I heard her weeping and cursing like a commoner. Didn't she realize she was only hurting herself by acting in such a coarse manner? Still, when she hurt herself, she helped me. I looked more proper by comparison. What is more, having witnessed this dreadful scene gave me a sort of celebrity. I had never been so powerful at the Cloisters before. I was drunk with the power, the deference, and the worship. I never noticed Cybil creeping up to speak with Ophelia.  
  
In the morning I was horrified to discover from the general announcement given by the priestesses that Ophelia had escaped her rooms once more and crept down to her old trysting place. There she had drowned herself in the lake. I remembered my dream, the way I'd drowned her in a pool of blood and water, the way she'd wrapped her chains around me, and felt ill. My initial reaction was disgust - was I really that weak? But then I began to plot and scheme again, and fell back on the age-old feminine response to bad news - I fainted. Really, couldn't I have been a player? 


	11. Alliance

Fight Like A Girl  
Chapter 11  
Alliances  
  
AN: I am sorry, again, for the long time between updates. Like I said, things have been really hectic. To answer 'Me''s question, I'm hoping to go to Japan next year, but as I said, there's a million complications. I've finally declared a Japanese major to try and avoid some of them, despite the fact my Japanese skills are extremely dubious, but 'I want to stalk Japanese rock stars' isn't good academic rationale, so.sorry, I'm rambling ~_~. Thank you to everyone for the reviews. You guys are too nice, and make me blush *grin*. As for last chapter's Macbeth quote, now that I'm at home and looking it up again, I realize that line numbers fluctuate. I suppose I already knew that, but hadn't thought about it. In my Folger Library copy, it's on 2.3:139, in my Signet Classic Edition it's 2.3:121, and in my Norton Anthology at college it was 2.3:122. It depends on editions - some delete, combine, or add lines for various reasons. Still, good job 'Me' for catching it. Now that I think about it, it's probably a little bit strange to have three copies of Macbeth lying around, isn't it? ~_~  
  
~~~  
  
When I regained consciousness, I didn't open my eyes right away. I stayed in the warm darkness behind my eyelids and listened to the girls around me. People tend to be more truthful about you when they think you aren't listening.  
  
"Lady Delia's really very delicate, isn't she?" asked one girl.  
  
"She was really good friends Ophelia. She must be so very distraught," commented another.  
  
"She's pretty even when she's fainted!" came another admiring voice.  
  
I fought the urge to smile. I allowed my eyelids to flutter and then open, made my voice weak, and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry for worrying everyone."  
  
"Oh, no worry at all, Lady Delia!" insisted the girls who were arrayed about me, looking with anxious eyes. Only Cybil sat slightly apart, sewing in her hands, the sympathy in her eyes tinged with calculation.  
  
I smiled weakly. "Thank you all, you're such good friends," I murmured.  
  
"Come now, she must be fatigued. Leave, everyone, hurry now," ordered Cybil, standing up and ushering the other girls out. When they left Cybil closed the door, waited a few moments for them to leave the hallway, and turned towards me, her kind façade fading into a knowing smile.  
  
"Clever trick, that faint. I wish I'd thought of it," she said.  
  
My heart sped up as I lay there, and something that tasted of panic tinged my tongue. "I'm sorry.what are we talking about?" I asked, doing my best to seem weak and confused.  
  
She smiled again. "Come now, Delia, there's no need to play that game with me. I know you made yourself faint. I don't believe for a moment your nerves are as weak as all that. I know you led us to that rock on purpose the other day."  
  
"What are you talking about?" I asked, my shock and horror real.  
  
Cybil pulled up a stool and sat as close as a conspirator. "I heard when she told you when she met that lover of hers. I know what your game is."  
  
"I'm sure I don't know what-"  
  
"Yes, the denial game is the safe way to go. You mustn't be tricked into confessing anything. You needn't admit it if you don't want to. Just know this - next time you're extracting secrets, make sure there are no eavesdroppers."  
  
Unsure of what to say, I didn't say anything. Cybil smiled again, a traitor's smile, a murderess's smile, I thought to myself. I immediately quashed such melodramatic notions.  
  
"I'm quite impressed with you, Delia of Eldorne. You've come quite a long way from the uncouth hoyden you were when you first came here. At first I thought that you were another brainless beauty, but then I saw you were clever enough to control a conversation. You had me fooled though. I thought you were senselessly attached to that idiot Ophelia. Now I see that I judged you wrong once again. You are quite capable. I hadn't even time to think of a scheme before you had her caught like a rat. All that was left for me was to cut off the loose ends," she said, snapping a pale yellow thread in her embroidery.  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked. As my mind raced, catching the sinister inflection in her voice, I no longer had to feign a sickness in my stomach.  
  
"Why, we couldn't have her around telling stories, could we? I have no doubt you could talk your way out of it if she said she'd told you of her trysting spot, but it works out better for the both of us if she just.disappeared," Cybil replied with a smile. Her teeth seemed too sharp for a human. For a moment I got the overwhelming sensation I was in a room with a beast, and if I let down my guard for a moment she would tear me to pieces. It was getting harder and harder to maintain my calm façade.  
  
"Disappeared?" I repeated hollowly.  
  
"Of course. Enough of her talk would quite undermine your position, my dear, and I couldn't have that. I have great plans for you, Delia of Eldoren," she promised.  
  
"You mean you killed-"  
  
"Of course not!" she exclaimed, truly offended. "I am a noblewoman. It is uncouth to have blood on your hands. I merely explained to her the options that she had left. Surely you are familiar with the story of Aislynn the Virtuous?"  
  
I nodded slowly, remembering that tale of a girl, Aislynn, who was cruelly raped. Rather than continue to bring dishonor upon her family, she had killed herself. She was remembered as a paragon of virtue.  
  
"Well, they do say 'death before dishonor'. Ophelia knew what she had to do. She's a fool and a coward in some things, but quite brave in others."  
  
My mind reeled. I did not feel actually faint - Cybil was right, my nerves were far too strong for that - but I did lose my head enough to blurt out, "You are a murderess!"  
  
Cybil's eyes narrowed, and I wanted to whimper, but forced myself to sit up and stare back at her.  
  
"No more than you are, my dear, no more than you are. I merely told her a story. Before you throw around foolish accusations remember that I did no more than you, and without your betrayal, I could never have convinced her as I did. My treachery offered her solace - yours was just cruel. Never act as though you are a pure paragon with me, Delia my girl, I know better than that. You are as rotten on the inside as the rest of us. I'm offering you an alliance. You should know better than to point fingers in such a situation."  
  
I took a deep breath. The dream came back to me once more, the memory of holding Ophelia under the water, and I saw the truth of Cybil's words. I was as much to blame as she was. Men like to say that women are overemotional. I myself have always used that assumption to my benefit, but I have never actually been prone to weak sentimentality. Even as I realized my guilt, relived my dream, my mind raced. And so the next words that came out of my mouth were, "What alliance?"  
  
Cybil smiled once more. It still unnerved me, but I refused to let it cow me. "I knew I hadn't misjudged you again, Delia. The truth is that I have a lot I could teach you. My sisters are preparing a place at Court for me quite soon, within the next year, and I could take you with me. I was planning on taking Ophelia, but I can see that you are far better suited. Think of it, Delia - the Court, the most important place at Tortall, laid out for us to conquer."  
  
"That would be early, by at least a year. No one debuts as young as that," I scoffed.  
  
"No normal girl debuts so young, that's true. But my sisters have become great friends of Queen Lianne, and believe that they could get a royal invitation for myself and one other. What do you say to that?"  
  
I was silent a moment as dreams of conquest and power filled my head. I had very little left to do before I was ruler of the Cloisters, and once that was done, I could see myself becoming bored very easily. Power in the Cloisters was useless in the long run. What would anyone of importance care if I was the most important girl in the Mithran Cloisters? No, the Court was the only place that I could gain true power, power that would mean something. There I could meet the King and Queen, the Prince, the important noblemen and women. Why waste time playing for small stakes with children when I could enter the real game at the Court?  
  
And the faster I made my debut, the closer I was to seeing David again.  
  
"And what would you want in return?" I asked.  
  
"Your support, of course. I have seen enough to learn that you are no one to be trifled with, Delia of Eldorne. You will be a woman of power in her own right at Court - is it so unbelievable that I would want your support?"  
  
"You would trust me? After what I did to Ophelia?" I asked, on the verge of laughing.  
  
Cybil did laugh, and responded, "Oh, I don't trust you one little bit, Delia. I have my guarantees on your good behavior. To start with, I know about your little plot towards Ophelia. I could make your life quite uncomfortable with that, couldn't I?"  
  
"So this is blackmail?" I asked her, raising my eyebrows.  
  
"Of course not. Blackmail is so.common. We're noblewomen! This is.an alliance with protection. So what do you say? Will you come to Court with me?" she asked.  
  
Well, there was really only one choice. I smiled, matching her needle- tooth for needle-tooth, and said, "Yes, I will come to Court with you."  
  
Cybil clapped her hands like a delighted little girl. "Lovely! I knew you were a smart girl." She stood up, gathered her embroidery into her arms, and headed towards the door, saying, "You should rest a bit longer, to keep up the ruse. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
With that she was gone, and I lay back in the bed. I had found a match for my wits at the Cloisters, and made a useful alliance. Still, something about Cybil frightened me.she had been friendly with Ophelia for far longer than I, yet could speak so flippantly about her part in Ophelia's death. I doubted Cybil was plagued by dreams. She was what David had been afraid I'd become, had been so relieved I had not become.  
  
David. I smiled. He'd be so thrilled to hear I might come to Court so soon! I pushed the ominous thoughts of Cybil out of my head, reached for quill and parchment, and began a letter right then. I'm coming soon, David, I wrote, so just wait a little bit longer. Then we'll be together. Then we'll show them all. 


	12. Cybil's Advice

Fight Like A Girl Chapter 12 Cybil's Advice  
  
AN: OK, so this is a little bit short, and I'm sorry about that. But I'll try and come out with another one soon, so I hope that you all enjoy this one in the meanwhile. Thank you to everyone that pointed out the 'Ophelia clapped' as opposed to 'Cybil clapped' bit at the end of the last chapter. I'm sorry I missed that. I guess I'm not very good at proofreading my own stuff ~_~ Anyway, I'll try to replace that chapter with an edited chapter, here's hoping that it works out all right. Thank you again to everyone who nice enough to review, I really appreciate it.  
  
"It is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with. Because this is to be asserted in general of men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you successed they are yours entirely; they will offer you their blood, property, life, and children, as is said above, when the need is far distant; but when it approaches they turn against you" (Machiavelli, The Prince. And as I don't have my copy of The Prince with me here, and I don't know it by heart, I ended up looking it up online, so I don't have a page number, but here's the website: )  
  
~~~  
  
The next day dawned too brightly for a funeral. The knowledge that elsewhere Ophelia was being buried underneath this same sun weighed heavily on me, or would have if I had allowed it to do so. Yet I reminded myself that I was too strong to allow guilt and remorse to keep me from my plans. I showed a face of delicate grief but did not allow myself to feel melancholy. Instead, at the first free moment, Cybil and I retired to her rooms.  
  
She dropped her sorrowful expression as quickly as I did mine, and with the air of practice, checked for eavesdroppers at the door and windows. I wondered briefly at what her life could have been that such practices were second nature, but held my tongue. Questions often reveal more about yourself than those you are questioning.  
  
Once her search for eavesdroppers was complete, Cybil did not waste time with pleasantries. She always had the ability to keep from emotional attachments. I believe she would sell her own parents if it furthered her cause enough. I have envied her this strength, although David once insisted that it was a weakness, and that she must be horribly lonely. At times, when the thought of my friendship with David was my only solace, I was inclined to agree.  
  
But digression is a hideous habit, and I am quite ashamed to have fallen it. As I was saying, the moment Cybil's fear of eavesdroppers had been assuaged she turned to me and said, "Delia, we have much to do. Our skills may be exemplary here at the Cloisters, but the courtiers have more tricks up their sleeves than hairs on their heads."  
  
I was surprised at the immediacy of her change from grieving, delicate flower to detached conspirator, but nodded in agreement. "What do you suggest?"  
  
"My sisters have been writing me letters with advice. I've copied out the best of it, and I suggest you read these," she pulled sheaf of papers out of the bottom of a drawer and handed them to me.  
  
"This is all the advice they've given you?" I asked looking through the papers, my eyebrows raised.  
  
"Of course," Cybil replied with her chilling smile. I did not believe her for a moment. She no doubt kept the best bits of advice for herself; it would not do to be outshone by her companion. There was no course I could take at that time, however, and so I merely smiled back and tucked the papers into my sleeve.  
  
"Thank you. I'm sure they will make most engaging reading," I said with an overly gracious curtsy that had, I will admit, a hint of mocking. I do not know if she did not understand the insult of if she just decided to ignore it, but she immediately continued her instructions, stating, "What is more, we must practice conversation."  
  
This was a bit too much for me. "What do you think we've been doing for the past odd years, Cybil?" I asked, wondering if this was meant as an insult to match my curtsied slight.  
  
"Yes, and you were quite adept at steering the conversation that first day. Nevertheless, the experienced courtiers would run circles around us. We must be so practiced that we can destroy a reputation, make a girl popular, offend, flatter, change the minds of others with a word. And of course the best people to practice on are the other girls here."  
  
The idea of thoughtlessly destroying the other girls in the Cloisters for practice repulsed me, although I did not let it show on my face. I have always desired power above all things, and I always knew that it would have its price. That is why I could betray Ophelia. But, despite what wretched whispers circle the court now, I had no love of cruelty for the sake of cruelty, not then at least, and the idea of denigrating certain girls to keep my tongue sharp seemed to me like a knight cutting down people in the street to keep his sword quick. Yet even as I thought this, I knew I could not allow Cybil to be privy to such thoughts. She would see such reservations as weaknesses, and perhaps they were. Whether they were or were not, she would treat them as such, and use them to destroy me. I had to seem as inhumane and cold to her as she did to me. Nevertheless I did attempt to steer her away from this idea.  
  
"It is foolish to carelessly destroy the reputations of girls here. We cannot know who will be harmless in the future and who will catch the eye of some important nobleman and be in a position to revenge herself upon us. Why make an enemy out of a potential ally?" I argued, thinking myself clever to think of it in terms of politics and chess pieces instead of real people and lives.  
  
"Then we must destroy them so thoroughly they shall never rise again," she responded as carelessly as if she deciding upon colors for a gown.  
  
"And how many times shall we do this? How many times until we are seen as cruel and petty and the other girls hate and fear us?" I argued, appealing to her sense of strategy as I was unsure if she had much in the way of heart.  
  
"Of course they will fear us. That is power, is it not?" she asked lightly.  
  
"It is far better to have the girls adore us. Right now I believe some of those girls would die for us. Fear does not inspire that sort of loyalty, Cybil," I insisted.  
  
"But of course it does! Blaise of Netfeld dotes upon your every word, Delia, but she has never forgotten how you slighted her earlier. She hates you, mark me, but her fear is such that she is the greatest sycophant of them all," argued Cybil.  
  
"And so I watch her, for I know that the moment I am weak she will pounce. I hope for stronger allies than that."  
  
"And those girls that you say adore you, will they cleave to you when you are weak? Will they defend your name, confront your slanderers? Like they did for Ophelia?" Cybil's voice rang out like she was singing a hymn to the Goddess and I could not deny the truth of her words.  
  
"Many hated Ophelia. She was not a kind person," I retorted weakly.  
  
"And many did not, for she could be generous when the mood struck her. Come, Delia, you are no naïve waif. You know as well as I that it is more in human nature to betray than defend a weak friend, and cowardice is more prevalent than valor. Surely you can see that fear is a greater insurance than loyalty," she responded, her voice laced with fervor.  
  
I could not deny the truth of her words. Though I still found her suggestions repugnant, I was forced to recognize their brutal wisdom. I imagined that this disapprobation I felt towards picking girls to terrorize as practice was more evidence of sentimentality and weakness. Such things had to be overcome if I was to become powerful. Foolishly I thought that emotions were like possessions, that I could put them aside when they were in the way and pick them up once more when I had need of them. But I will not dissolve into melancholy fits. Such acts are fruitless. Suffice to say that I agreed with Cybil that day, took her letters, and when I woke the next morning I was sweating from a nightmare I could not remember and groping for phantom chains on my wrists.  
  
~~~  
  
And for fun cryptic foreshadowing, here's the bit of the The Prince that comes a little after my first quote: "Nevertheless a prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids hatred" (Machiavelli, The Prince, same place as the first). 


	13. Unrepentedly Foolish

Fight Like A Girl Chapter 13 Unrepentantly Foolish  
  
AN: Well, here's the next bit. I'm afraid I may have made some of the girls too mean or too physical, but, well, girls can be cruel.if I keep going I'll give away the chapter, so just suffice to say, if someone can tell me if I overdid it, I'd be grateful. Thank you to the people who reviewed the last chapter. 'Me', as always I'm glad to hear from you (, Flailersrule, I've wanted to put Machiavelli in with the girls, so last chapter was my chance. I'm glad you liked it. Raven: Queen of the Rogue, I'm glad you liked the Shakespeare bits, I try to put them as fun extras if you read it, but have people who haven't read it still be able to enjoy the story, so I'm glad that worked out. As for your advice about changing the summery, it's well-taken, and I'll consider changing it to something more exciting at the very least (I'm horrible at writing summaries, I'll admit), but I'm afraid if I changed the summery to make it seem as though the story was about another character, then the Delia fans wouldn't see it (I'm sure there's Delia fans out there somewhere.or at least I hope there are ~_~), and I'd alienate or annoy the people who read it expecting something else (it's nice of you to say that they wouldn't mind once they started reading my story though). And also, part of the point of the story is to make Delia, if not one of the 'well loved' characters, at least a character that people understand and can identify with. Still, I'll think about making a better summary. And of course, thank you to everyone that reviews. Wow, this is a ridiculously long Author's Notes. Sorry about that. On to the story.  
  
***  
  
Shortly after that conversation, I recall the girls and I chatting in the sitting room, as we were wont to do on many leisurely afternoons and evenings. As the setting sun illuminated the group, casting a pleasant glow over most of us, the orange light caught Cybil's eyes, and for a moment she looked monstrous. She glanced quickly at me, her laugh no nonchalant and airy that I knew she had to be planning something. Then those hellfire-lit eyes landed upon a girl sitting quietly on the outskirts. She was new to the Cloisters. Her name was Carin, although I don't recall her family. She was not pretty. Her build was far too sturdy for a maidenly figure. Her hair was black, and her skin was a shade too dark to be purely Tortallan. Her every movement was tinged with fear, and she sat in a cringing manner, as though she knew she didn't belong here. In short, she was a ready victim.  
  
"Carin," said Cybil, her smile pointed and dangerous.  
  
"Y-yes?" answered the girl, starting at the unexpected address.  
  
"What would you like to be in your dowry?" asked Cybil, bringing her into the discussion of the group. For a moment Carin looked hopeful, as though she would be accepted by the girls, as though she truly believed that Cybil was extending a welcoming hand. Cybil smiled in what was meant to be an ingratiating manner while her eyes flashed with the dying sun.  
  
"I- I would truly love a nice blue gown. A really bright blue, not pale and pastel. I've always loved bright blue," said the child, her voice thin and high, buoyed up by hope.  
  
"What? Just one dress? Is that all? My, you don't have much to offer, do you?" at Carin's confused look, Cybil continued in a condescending manner, "I mean, a man won't get much out of marrying you, will he? I have a whole estate to my name. It was my mother's dowry, and shall be passed along to me. Was your mother's dowry a blue dress?" Cybil's tone had become aggressively, almost violently, friendly. I wanted to look away. I felt imaginary chains chafing my wrists as I pictured a lifetime spent allowing and even helping Cybil to bully whoever came her way, just because she could.  
  
"No," answered Carin, still oblivious to the mocking undertones of Cybil's question. "My mother's dowry was a white dress. It was her wedding dress. And her horse. She was from the Bazhir, you see, and that's the custom-"  
  
"The Bazhir!" exclaimed Cybil, fiendishly delighted, feigning surprise. "My goodness! I have heard such stories about them. Is it true that the women have fangs for teeth, and that is why they hide behind veils?"  
  
The room tittered, Cybil smiled, and the hopeful expression that had filled Carin's face fell. Now she finally understood that the girls were mocking her. She looked as though she would cry.  
  
"No," she answered softly.  
  
"What is that, dear? I cannot hear you!" replied Cybil.  
  
"No," Carin repeated.  
  
"Oh my, we still can't hear. I suppose we'll have to check for ourselves. Someone be a dear and bring her over here!" commanded Cybil.  
  
Some of the girls grabbed Carin by the arms and dragged her forward. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to watch this sort of wretched bullying. It seemed so.common was the only word I could think of. I did not want to appear to disapprove of Cybil, so I opened my eyes once more. She trembled and whimpered as she was brought before Cybil.  
  
"Open her mouth!" came Cybil's decree, and many willing hands reached for Carin's jaw. She seemed like a frail girl, but I suppose it is only natural to fight in such a situation, and Carin fought. She snapped and bit the air with her teeth, and even though she did not actually bite one of the offensive hands, her actions were violent enough for the girls to withdraw slightly.  
  
"Why, it must be true!" crowed Cybil, taking what seemed to much joy out of this. I have never enjoyed cruelty as much as she did, or as much as Roger for that matter. "Look how she snaps - like a horse!" Cybil continued. "It must be true what they say about the Bazhir and their horses! Of course, there's not much for it, their men being so horribly ugly, where's a girl to go?"  
  
The girls laughed cruelly again, and Carin's cheeks reddened with an angry flush. In that moment I remembered being a little girl, being prodded from one place to another, dead and trembling as a doll, before I met David. I remembered even earlier than that, being cornered and chided by my mother and my nurse, being told I was beastly and a horrid girl, and the feeling of helpless rage that came with it. I could read that same rage in Carin's face, the desperate rage of the powerless, and in that moment I couldn't let Cybil continue.  
  
"Oh, Cybil, who did you hear that from? From Ophelia, in her..conversations..with stable boys? I won't believe you are dealing with them yourself!" I said, anger flowing in my veins, making me incapable of detaching from the situation, of looking the other way as this girl was humiliated.  
  
Cybil started, and glared at me. "Of course not, Delia, why? Are you being possessive of a new beau?" she asked, her tone that of light teasing. But I felt the enraged glare she sent in my direction, knew I was on dangerous ground. Nevertheless, I could not stop now. This was different from betraying Ophelia, different from insulting Blaise and Adela. I knew that they were deceitful snakes, that they would do the same to me in a moment, that treachery was second nature to them. Carin, on the other hand, was out of her depth in the Cloisters, was almost pitifully unprepared for the years to come. She could not even school herself enough to submit as a proper victim - instead, she fought. I remembered the day when David had convinced me to stop being a victim and to fight back with what power I had. You see, I understood her helpless rage, and even respected it. Carin snapped like a horse because she could not snap like a girl, and in that moment, although it was foolish, I simply had to defend her.  
  
"Such stories are uncouth, and I want no part of them. As I have said before, a person with spirit is far more intriguing than a tedious bore. With such spirit, one wouldn't need to depend upon a dowry to attract attention." I was sure Cybil recognized the hidden slight, but refused eye contact with her. Instead I smiled indulgently at Carin, whose face was a study in confusion.  
  
"Delia, you're too kind. But I suppose you cannot help but feel a sense of kinship with such .excitable.girls, considering your own past." Cybil's comment trailed off into an almost- threat.  
  
"And just look how well I turned out!" I declared with a laugh. My laughter can be infectious at times, and enough girls joined me that Cybil realized she couldn't turn on me then. I had too many allies at that moment, was too strong. What is more, my statement contained a veiled threat of my own - I had overcome my unrefined past, and was a strong person in my own right. I was not Ophelia, to be duped and led about. If Cybil's gaze were an arrow I would have been dead several times over by this point, but after a few uneasy moments she joined in the laughter and we steered the conversation towards different topics.  
  
I didn't look at Carin again that day. I was shocked by my own reckless stupidity. But I did not regret, still do not regret, it. Make no mistake, I am no altruist, but in that instance there was nothing else I could have done. To betray that girl, powerless and angry, would have been to betray myself. I could not do it, foolish as it was. When I wrote David about my foolish actions, he wrote back to say that he loved me for it, reckless though it might have been, and wasn't it funny that I was at my best when I was angry?  
  
I could never regret anything that made him proud. 


End file.
